


Blackbird In The Dead Of Night

by corgifeathers



Series: Unbroken Circles [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Beelzebub Sings, Fluff, Hastur is sad about Ligur, Hurt/Comfort, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Other, Wing Grooming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 16:30:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21164684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corgifeathers/pseuds/corgifeathers
Summary: Hastur struggles in the Post Non-Apocalypse era. Beelzebub attempts to comfort him.





	Blackbird In The Dead Of Night

**Author's Note:**

> This short was written to help me set up the sequel story to my previous fic, Out of Hell. There will be some references made to events in that fic here. I also just wanted to write something with Hastur and Beelzebub. :)
> 
> Title comes from Blackbird, by The Beatles.

Beelzebub moved like a shadow down the halls. They were nearly unseen by those around, but the heaviness of their presence was still felt. Other demons instinctively knew to stay out of their way, automatically stepping aside, clearing a path whenever they felt Beelzebub's energy coming close. No one wanted to inconvenient or upset the Prince of Hell, accidentally or otherwise, especially these days.  
  
There was a commotion. A small crowd had gathered around three demons caught in a rough scuffle on the floor. The group dispersed as soon as their boss appeared, pretending to be busy with whatever it was they'd been doing before getting distracted by the fight. Beelzebub let them wander off, only concerned with the individuals punching each other in the face on the ground.  
  
"**HASTUR!**" Beelzebub's voice was loud enough to shake the walls.  
  
It was enough to cause the two other demons that had Hastur pinned jump back in fear. They stared at Beelzebub with wide eyes, as if facing the Almighty instead of the small demon. Beelzebub shot them a look as Hastur picked himself off the floor.  
  
"Consider yourselves fortunate I don't have time for you right now," Beelzebub told them. "Get out of my sight."  
  
The two scampered off as quickly as they could, not even daring to look back.  
  
Hastur lowered his head in apology, straightening his coat. "Forgive me, Your Disgrace," he muttered quietly. His face was bruised. A trickle of blood slid down from his temple to his chin.  
  
"My office. Now."  
  
Beelzebub didn't wait for him. They turned and stalked off, flies trailing behind their head. Hastur limped along, slowly behind, wondering what kind of wrath he had just brought down upon himself.  
  
Beelzebub was seated in the chair behind their desk when Hastur finally caught up. He stepped through the threshold, closing the door behind him. Beelzebub watched him as he entered the office. Hastur couldn't help but divert his eyes to the floor at the piercing stare. He walked up to the desk, his head lowered in shame, waiting for the Prince to bestow their chosen punishment.  
  
"I will not stand for infighting among the ranks," Beelzebub said, voice hard and stern. "See that it never happens again."  
  
"It won't," Hastur responded. "I will take my punishment as required and without protest, my Lord." He paused, and waited. Beelzebub was silent, and he lifted his dark eyes to look at the Prince. Beelzebub was watching him intently, studying him, but made no further effort to speak. "W-What is your judgment, my Lord?" he dared to pry, his voice shaky and confused.  
  
"My judgment is that your own judgment is clouded," Beelzebub stated in a flat tone. "This is the fourth incident this month and the second one this week. You're floundering, Hastur. I need you to stay focused. Will you stay focused?"  
  
Hastur darted his eyes as if searching for a good enough answer. "I...try to...but it is hard for me, after..."  
  
He trailed off. His jaw tightened.  
  
"You're strong, Hastur," Beelzebub said. "You always have been."  
  
"Not anymore."  
  
"Yes, you are. You doubt yourself too much."  
  
Hastur grimaced. "Because I am no longer whole!" He moved forward, slamming his hands on the desk in anger. "Crowley destroyed Ligur! He took him from me and you still allow him to walk free!"  
  
Beelzebub was unfazed. "Crowley was the only demon who willingly came to my aid when I was exiled to Earth. He has proven his loyalty to me."  
  
Hastur shook his head, frustrated. "He still needs to face punishment. I wish to remove his head from his body with my own hands!"  
  
"Yet, it will not bring back Ligur."  
  
Hastur stared at them, a wave of sadness washing over his features, and Beelzebub knew their words had struck deep. Hastur remained silent. Beelzebub could see the stark realization of the new reality he'd been thrown into consume his face, and they couldn't help the small pang of pity they felt for him.  
  
It was not entirely Hastur's fault that he was lashing out. Beelzebub understood that. They knew of the relationship that existed between him and Ligur. The two were Soul-Bonded. A link that ran through the very fiber of their being since their creation. It was not a romantic or a platonic connection. It was deeper than that. When God had crafted the angels into existence, She had sometimes used the same mold to create two individuals. Twin souls, vibrating on the same frequency, perfectly balanced together, but still retaining their own autonomy from each other. They were complimentary. Like night and day, it was hard for one to exist without the other.  
  
And Hastur was struggling to exist without Ligur.  
  
In the beginning, he had managed well enough. The anticipation of the Great War had helped him keep it hidden. However, now that everything had calmed, and the world was settling into a new order, Hastur was slipping. The cuts were starting to show, and his headstrong resolve was suddenly faltering. Half of his very being had been shattered, and it _hurt._  
  
A shadow darkened his face. "I do not know what to do. I don't know what I am anymore."  
  
Beelzebub leaned forward in their chair. "You are Hastur, Duke of Hell. My Right Hand. That will not change until I say so."  
  
"I will fail you."  
  
"No, you will not. You will continue your duties as normal, and I expect them to be completed to my satisfaction."  
  
At least Beelzebub could keep him partially distracted with work. Despite his current state, Hastur was strong and intelligent. Beelzebub needed him on their side. Since their return from exile, the atmosphere in Hell had been a little tense. Beelzebub had no doubts there were those that agreed with their punishment for failure to begin the Apocalypse, and were none too happy when Beelzebub returned. The Prince was not oblivious to the talk and rumors that crept around Hell. They had their own special ways of knowing. The flies that circled their head were for more than just dramatic effect. Beelzebub would be a fool if they allowed themself to believe their power could not be questioned again, and Beelzebub was no fool. They had already caught Dagon whispering things into Hastur's ear. A storm was brewing, and Beelzebub needed allies.  
  
Hastur nodded sadly to the other. "I will do my best, my Lord." He turned to leave.  
  
"Stop," Beelzebub said before he could take two steps. Hastur looked back at them. Beelzebub held his gaze. "You will not leave this room until you pull yourself together. Consider this your punishment."  
  
Hastur felt a little confused at the sentence, but complied, remaining still in place.  
  
Beelzebub regarded him for a moment longer, then commanded, "Come here."  
  
Hastur obeyed, stepping carefully around the desk. Beelzebub was keen enough to catch the split-second hesitation in his movements, even though he tried to hide it.  
  
"Sit." Beelzebub motioned to the space on the floor next to their chair.  
  
Hastur did so. This was it, he thought. He was either going to be personally tortured by the Prince or decapitated by one of their blades. He only hoped the discorporation wouldn't last too long, and he would be allowed back in a new body soon enough.  
  
Beelzebub watched him kneel on the floor next to the chair leg, his eyes turned down and his usually proud shoulders sagging. They reached their hand out and ran their fingers through his dirty white hair. They felt him jerk a little at the touch but then relax again when it became apparent Beelzebub was not going to harm him.  
  
"Do not leave this spot until I say so," Beelzebub ordered, but voice soft.  
  
"Yes, my Lord," Hastur mumbled in response.  
  
Beelzebub seemed satisfied with that, and reached across their desk for the report they had been reading before getting distracted by the fight down the hall. They took the papers in one hand, continuing where they left off, and kept petting Hastur's hair with the other.  
  
Their hand mindlessly ran over his head, softly scratching at his scalp. The touch was unusually calming, and Hastur wondered if Beelzebub had done this before to any other, or if it was only him. It was definitely not the reprimand he had been expecting. His eyes drifted shut from the circles Beelzebub traced on his head with their fingers. Time passed, but he didn’t know how much. It could have been minutes or hours. He leaned against the chair, his shoulder braced against the wooden leg as his head fell on Beelzebub's knee. He felt so tired...  
  
A deep slumber wanted to take him, but Hastur resisted it. Even though Beelzebub had found a way to calm his nerves, he doubted they would appreciate him falling asleep on their office floor. He focused his attention on the sounds around him, keeping his eyes shut. The gentle scrape of fingernails against his hair, the hum of the lights overhead, the echoes of voices down the hall, the turning of a page. The variety of different sounds kept his mind blank, giving him a momentary reprieve from the constant dwelling on the part of his soul that was missing.  
  
A few flies buzzed in the air, one after the other, quietly. One went past his ear. He could always tell Beelzebub's mood by the activity of their flies. When the things flew about in a frenzied storm around their head, he knew to keep his distance and watch his words. That was the case more often than not. Except for right now. The Prince was currently at ease. The flies were calm, only two or three fluttering about, searching for a good place to perch on their master's arm or hair. If Beelzebub was in a good mood, then he shouldn't worry about the earlier fight he very much instigated.  
  
He sighed deeply. He listened to the sound of air rushing out of him. Escaping him, leaving him forever. He missed Ligur...  
  
Something crept into the din. A new hum, light and sweet. It swirled with the other noises, graceful and melodic. Entrancing. Beelzebub was singing a song. He didn't know if it was meant for him or because they were bored, but it was pleasant. It was an old hymn, sad but hopeful, written after the Fall.  
  
Hastur had heard rumors of Beelzebub's singing. They were said to have had one of the most marvelous and powerful voices in Heaven as an angel, leading choruses, creating songs, and bringing music into the young world. No one had heard them sing after the Rebellion, though many suspected they were still capable of it. Demons liked to throw dance parties and were good at that, but there wasn't much to impress with the ridiculous singing that usually went along with it. No one could ever successfully tempt the Lord of Flies to attend a party and have a real singer lead the way.  
  
Beelzebub was content to stay in their office and do their work uninterrupted.  
  
Hastur didn't know why. Their singing was beautiful. Beelzebub could wipe the floor with all the weak-voiced demons in their ranks…  
  
He let his head sink further against their knee, the song leading him into a trance. He followed it, Beelzebub's cadence providing him a peace he had not felt in an eternity.  
  
Beelzebub felt Hastur slump against their leg. They hadn't even realized they started humming this tune. It was a habit they formed while working alone, going through endless piles of paperwork at night. Beelzebub had forgotten Hastur would be listening, but it was too late by then. Their song seemed to ease his pain a little. At least there would be no more fights tonight.  
  
Beelzebub tossed the last page of the report on the desk, tired of looking at the same drabble again. They studied Hastur, leaning on their leg, completely submissive to their hand and voice. He looked dreadful, more than usual anyway. His hair was unkempt. Spots of blood spattered his neck and coat. He wasn't taking care of himself, which was slightly concerning given that Hastur had a certain standard about the way he appeared to others.  
  
They lowered the hand petting his hair down his back, pressing into his coat, feeling his spine. They prodded gently at the bundle of nerves situated below the shoulder blades, the sweet spot every demon and angel possessed, and coaxed out his wings. The black feathers spread out slowly, and Beelzebub took one wing in their hands, laying it flat over their lap.  
  
They inspected the feathers. Their song briefly paused as they made a noise of disgust. "You have ash fleas," they chided before falling back into their tune.  
  
Hastur sighed, defeated. "I know. I can feel the itch..."  
  
The fleas were a pest that lurked in the ash piles around the smelting pools. They liked to feed off the oils from feathers in demon wings. Beelzebub brushed their hands through the wing, smiting the little beasts in a tiny flame from their fingertip whenever they found one. "You need to groom your wings, badly."  
  
Hastur grunted in acknowledgment and lifted his head. Beelzebub continued the grooming for him though. He remained where he was, listening to the song wafting in the air as Beelzebub tended to his feathers.  
  
The words spoke of something lost, yet something still left to gain. Beelzebub delivered it perfectly, and something twisted in Hastur's chest.  
  
His body shook and Beelzebub watched the movement ripple through the wing on their lap. The image caused a recent memory to appear in their mind, when they had sat near the pond with Crowley, lost and uncertain of the future. The similarity in Hastur to that moment left Beelzebub feeling unsettled.  
  
Their voice lowered until the song faded away altogether. They studied Hastur's sunken form. They remembered what Crowley had said, what he had done, to comfort them. Beelzebub struggled to find something to say to Hastur. They couldn't say it would be alright, because he would truthfully never be the same ever again. That would be false hope. But then again, Beelzebub had been certain they were going to be destroyed on Earth during their exile, yet the hope Crowley provided them had given them strength despite feeling completely false at the time. Perhaps any kind of comforting words would be of benefit, especially if they wanted to keep Hastur in their favor.  
  
It was still hard to make them come out.  
  
Beelzebub ran their hand from the wing's elbow joint, up the arm bone, to his shoulder. They squeezed lightly. "When the pain gets overbearing like this again, come to me first before picking a fight. Understand?"  
  
Hastur nodded his head slowly. "Understood."  
  
Beelzebub could barely hear him, but accepted his quiet answer. They manually folded his wing back into its usual resting position. Their hand combed over his hair once more, then slid down the side of his face, turning his chin towards them.  
  
Beelzebub's cold blue eyes pierced into his glossy black ones. "If you do get into a fight, at least do it well. Don't let a couple of weaklings pin you down like that again. It's embarrassing."  
  
"Never again, my Lord," Hastur replied. The slight humor in Beelzebub's tone caused a small smirk to turn at his mouth.  
  
Beelzebub's gaze softened, and Hastur had never seen them look so kindly at another living creature in his lifetime, much less him. It was shocking, yet somehow reassuring. "A moment will arise when you will find your strength again," they whispered, brushing his hair from his face. "I found mine, and I can tell you that it will not happen while you're on your own. Choose the ones you need wisely."

Hastur nodded, a sad smile on his face in affirmation, but still a smile.

Beelzebub released him. "You may go now," they said, turning back to the pile of unread reports on their desk. "Make sure you see Zorikith for a potion to get rid of those fleas."  
  
Hastur stood, hiding his wings once more and bowing respectfully to Beelzebub. He walked slowly to the door, still solemn, but a minuscule spark by the Prince's words providing enough will to continue his work for the time being.

_End._


End file.
